The soul doesn’t rise like bread leavening in the warm

it hurts in the dark and grows up through the pavement

It’s the cup that spilled on a crowded table

lift the plate to soak up what has fallen under. I shouldn’t have left the mail so close to

that cup of water

It’s shattered on the ground

A splinter of yours got in the heel of my foot and I haven’t taken a step where I haven’t

felt it.